Heartless
by mooki3babiiyonkerz
Summary: One-shot. In the night you hear them talk the coldest story ever told. How somewhere far along this road he lost his soul to a woman so heartless.


_Author's Note: Ok, so, this is my first story and it's a one-shot so I don't end up messing it up. The idea came from Kanye West's song Homecoming. I admit it may be a little confusing at first but I think you'll get it by the end. Also, the 'you' in this story is just an unknown Brooklyn newsie as is everyone else besides Spot._

_Disclaimer: Newsies and its characters belong to Disney. _

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Spot Conlon isn't what he use to be. He doesn't carry himself the way he use to. That superiority he use to carry on his shoulders that made people look up to him, that set him apart from others -- made him better than the crowd, was gone. You haven't known him as long as the others, but you hear stories about how great a person he was; like the Alexander III of his time. They tell you about the strike. About how he led the Brooklyn newsies in to help the boys of Lower Eastside. How there might not have even been a strike had it not been for him.

They talk about him like he isn't there, saying things like 'before Brooklyn left' and 'when Spot Conlon was here', but you see him every time you walk out the door in the morning and when you go to sleep at night. You argue that Spot hasn't gone anywhere. He's right there in front of them, but they just shake their head insisting you don't know what you're talk about. You don't know the Spot they knew, so you wouldn't know how he was before. It's them who don't know him like you do. Conlon is still great in your eyes, even greater than the stories. Sure, he doesn't smile as much and maybe he isn't as happy as he use to be, but he's still a Conlon. He's still Brooklyn.

They don't like talking about him when you're around. You tell them to explain how he's fallen, but they are just so sure you wouldn't understand. You're determined to find out who Spot Conlon was. Why everyone who knew him is angry, but more so disappointed at who he's become -- a shell of his former self. Why you're the only one who still holds him on the same high pedastool you always had, but it's useless. Everyone you speak to either agrees with you saying that Spot Conlon always was and still is Brooklyn or refuses to talk to you.

You had enough of this song and dance. You're going to demand that they stop talking about Spot like he's dead, like he's not right in front of them. You're going to remain loyal even if everyone else bails out. You're going to defend Spot and they'll all see you were right all along. As you march up the stairs of the Brooklyn lodging house you overhear them talking. They say that Spot never should have left her. She was the one who made Spot Conlon who he was. When there was no one else, she was there. She never left him, but he had left her and that's why he is how he is now. You stand by the door and listen closely to what might be the only one of their stories worth listening to.

The story of how Spot Conlon lost his soul to a woman so heartless.

xxx

Spot Conlon was but ten years old when he first met her. At first glance she wasn't much to look at, or second or even third glance. Spot had definately seen better looking girls. She was less than plain. She looked dirty and older than she really was, but for some reason Spot took a liking to her. At her young age she already had a bad repuation. She wasn't fresh, but that could be told just by looking at her. She was tough, not letting just anybody walk on her and that's why she was different to him. Life had thrown her more than one curve ball, but she still kept her dignity. She wouldn't let anyone determine her fate. She was her own, but took to Spot quickly.

Though he saw her first, she was the first one to speak, introducing herself. From that point, they were always together. She was his double, his other half. As his reputation grew, so did hers. She was as feared and respected as he and she was wanted because she was his. She would never leave him for any other and his knowing this brought about his own downfall. He didn't love her enough or else didn't show it. He treated her like a trophy, showing her off and bragging that she was his wherever he went. Yet, she stayed true to only him, blowing off others who offered her more than he could ever hope to give her.

On Independence Day, when he got older, she took him by the hand and lead him to the Brooklyn Bridge to introduce him to his New York. Her face lit up that night and Spot was astounded. He didn't see what everyone else saw. He didn't see a broke girl down on her luck, but something more. She allowed him to see who she really was. It was then that he let her know she would always be with him, that he loved her and she was pleased.

Then came the news of the strike and she was once again placed to the side. He had to concentrate on other things, but she was still there with him through the whole thing. Everyone saw it and they smiled. They saw what Spot Conlon was when he thought about her, when she was around, and they liked it. It gave him a spark he never had before. If only she knew. If only she would have seen how much she met to him. If only he could have shown her. It was not like every other time. Even the strong become weary and she was tired of waiting for him and she told him. She reminded him of his promises to her, but he just smiled, avoiding it at all costs.

It was like deja vu for her. Many had made promises, but few kept them. She thought Spot would be different, but as she saw him and his boys march off toward Manhattan she knew she had lost him and he, in turn, would lose her.

That winter of 1899 was the coldest she ever was toward him. The warmness he felt when she smiled was no longer in his heart. As he stood on the platform to the train station he uttered a forced, "I love you."

And she snorted. A gesture she'd never done before, at least not to him. "Why would you leave me if you cared? Why would you leave everything and everyone? Your boys --"

"My boys can take care of themselves."

She exhaled a cold breath. "What about me?"

For this, he had no answer. He boarded the train and left the one girl he ever really cared about behind him and she cried a cry so wretched it affected everyone around her, everyone who ever knew her or ever would know her.

Sometimes he would write to her, but when he wrote to her she would only talk about him. She told him how he left his boys without a leader and how she took care of them the best she could, but they were still his boys -- Spot Conlon's men. They were just like him. They always spoke of him and wanted to be just like him, but she wouldn't let them. She wouldn't let them leave her like he did.

xxx

And you sit there up against that wall, a tear falling down your cheek for your fallen leader. A leader you never really got to know. You finally understand. Spot Conlon is Brooklyn -- always was, always will be, but the Brooklyn you know isn't what they know and they've been trying to get you to understand. Brooklyn can't be the way it use to be. Spot Conlon can never come back because there is no Brooklyn waiting for him, not the same Brooklyn he left.


End file.
